Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Whispers In The Dark ❯ Unplanned Emotion ( Chapter 3 )

Horror, Suspense, yucky violence, supernatural activity...somewhat canon charas (if I can manage it).

No Pairings. Maybe just a bit of shounen ai, but not in the way that us people looooovvveee.

Stand Disclaimers Apply: I do not own Gundam Wing. There.

Um...rated 'R' for some violence? (Some violence she says...)

0o0o0o0o0o0o0 = means scene change

A/N: Ooh...I am almost finished...o_O ! Whoa! Wow, priscel, you pointed out some clever things! But I have them explained, here...er, somewhat. All your reviews are very helpful, and thank you so much for pointing out these things! Sometimes I miss them and feel entirely idiotic when I catch them later on...O_O.

Chapter Three: Unplanned Emotion

Trowa stilled, looking around him in surprise. The lights had just come on, and he was surrounded by the pristine condition of the hallway he'd ventured into upon looking for Quatre. The floors were immaculately cleaned, the walls in perfect condition, the lights very bright and in working order. There wasn't a speck of dust anywhere, and it was a far cry from the sight he'd seen upon entering the area with Wufei and Heero upon their landing.

It was...it was as if he were transported back in time.

Catching his breath, he stared in wonder at the sight, stepping back automatically against the wall. The gun in his hand quivered as he looked up the hallway at a stairway that led to a quiet corridor. He could see the beginnings of another stairway that led upward from there. He heard nothing through the comm-link, so he wondered if he were the only one experiencing this.

There were footsteps coming his way, and thus had no where to duck as a pair of technicians came his way, talking about a football game. They laughed and exchanged information about a Bengals and Chiefs game, and Trowa watched as they merely walked through him, not even acknowledging him. Was he even visible to them? How could they not have noticed him?! He was wearing an all black space suit, complete with oxygen tank and helmet, and he stood in the center of the hall. They'd merely walked through him, as if he were a----well, a ghost!

"Barton?!" Heero shouted, his voice registering his complete surprise.

"I'm here," Trowa replied calmly, looking up the hallway back at the stairway. He'd heard someone going up there-could it have been Quatre, or these...people? He wanted to go that way, but before he could, something entirely different about the scene switched.

He turned, hearing Heero call for him, and watched as a man entered the hallway from the elevator shaft nearby. He was heavyset, about five foot eight, with a shaved head and various tattoos on his arms and neck. He had a potbelly that hung over his saggy pants, and he waddled with every step, breathing somewhat heavily due to his size. He wore the simple clothing of a miner, his clothes coated with dust and oil splatters. His menacing expression was with a scowl, heavyset eyebrows scrunched together in a murderous frown. He had the beginnings of a goatee, his face full, blue eyes filled with anger.

Trowa found himself stepping backward just to avoid contact with the man, who just radiated a sickening aura of malice. His eyes dropped to the tattoos of various swastikas and white supremacy notations that were visible around his forearms. He had a foul smell about him, smelling of body odor and something even more nauseating, such as excrement.

Something about the man really made Trowa want to avoid him completely, but the man moved through him just as easily as the other two did. Without a break in stride, he was up the stairway and out of Trowa's sight as he turned left within the hallway. Trowa found himself shivering in the aftermath of the man's presence, goosebumps rising up and down his body, his face scrunching with both uneasiness and worry. He found himself having held his breath-Trowa, once aware of this, released this slowly, and answered Heero, just as calmly as he would before he'd seen this changing dimension.

"I'm here, 01," he said. "What does it look like on your end?"

"Everything's....back to normal..." Heero's voice was filled with a puzzled curiosity, and Trowa could just hear the stunned amazement from the perfect soldier. "The hangar is filled with workers...but it's as if they don't see us...Or the carrier..."

"Same here," Trowa replied. "They can't see me. They walk right through me. Like...I'm the ghost."

"Roger that. Perhaps use this moment to find Quatre?"

"I'm on it," Trowa said softly, walking away from the hall, climbing the stairway. He didn't want to come in contact with that man, but something told him that he hadn't yet seen the last of him. He made his way up the stairway, noting the various people and families that lined the residential area of this level. Their conversations and laughter were very real, and he found himself pausing in step to remove his helmet, noting the freshness of oxygen, the air cool and comfortable. He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, reaching up to wipe his hairline of sweat that had gathered from the warmth of his helmet inclosing.

Looking around, he knew that there were many apartments throughout the entire level, because that's what they had found during their last sweep of the place before the lights had died the first time.

While paused in the middle of the stairway, upcoming footsteps caught his attention. He looked over his shoulder to see a slim man hurrying up the stairs, head bowed. He wore a mechanic's hat over shaggy hair, and he moved with a feline grace that had him easily taking the stairs two at a time. Dressed as a mechanic, tool belt around his slim hips, the man wore an easy smile that was eerily familiar, though Trowa couldn't place it at the moment. His face was nearly covered by the position of his head and the bill of his cap, so the mercenary couldn't even see the rest of the features.

Trowa didn't even try to move this time, allowing the man to move through him as easily as the others had. He replaced his helmet, then, unwilling to take the chance on inhaling any poisons or such that the colony may have, abandoned or not. He then continued his way up the stairs, starting at the sight of Quatre nearby, holding a nightlight and watching the moving man with something similar to shock on his face.

Relief flooded through Trowa, and he started forward, catching the sight of Quatre seeing him. The blond's face made formed an extremely grateful one, and he began moving in his direction.

"Oh my fucking God!" the man in the hat exclaimed, pausing in mid-step. His attention was focused in Quatre's direction. "Holy shit! Holy shit! Gah! Ghosts! There are ghosts here!!"

With that, he turned and ran back the way he'd come, running through Trowa with a scared shout. Puzzled, Trowa stared after him, then back at Quatre, blinking as he wondered what they'd done to attract that sort of attention.

"Nigel! Oh, jeez, Nigel! Come check this shit out!" the man shouted at someone down the hall. "C'mon, man! Get over here!"

Trowa looked back at Quatre, who hurried over to him with a relieved expression.

"Trowa!" he exclaimed, barely holding back as he hugged the other teen in extreme relief. "I was so scared!"

Trowa inched away carefully from the embrace, a little squirmish at the contact. Things hadn't been the same between them since...since that incident with Wing Zero, and so, by far, they were nothing but working comrades in the war, and nothing was the same as it was before. Trowa had caught himself keeping his distance, both emotionally and physically from Quatre, and Quatre had sensed his reluctance, so his own shame and guilt of things had kept Quatre from him. They came together only to work on their similar beliefs of the war and nothing more. Even though he missed that friendship from before, things had changed, and he couldn't find any other way to correct them.

He caught the sharp scent of ammonia, but he didn't comment on it. Realizing with a start what it could be, he didn't want to embarrass the other teen by bringing it up.

"The others are in the hangar," he said as Quatre let go of him, noting the reaction of the other teen that possessed a suddenly shamed expression at Trowa's own reflection, pushing away from his taller figure. Despite the slowly reddening skin of his face and the way he couldn't look Trowa in the eye, Quatre was extremely relieved to not being alone anymore.

Awkwardly, Trowa reached out and patted his shoulder to somewhat comfort him, and the pair began moving toward the stairway.

"Are you alright?" Trowa asked, looking over the smaller teen, finding that despite a somewhat disheveled suit and the lack of helmet and oxygen tank, he seemed fine.

Until Quatre lifted his arm, pointing out the obvious break that made Trowa's eyebrows rise high on his forehead. He took the hammer from the blond, noting the dust that covered the rubber handle and various rust throughout the steel, and then examined the break of the blond's wrist, seeing that the wrist had been forcefully shifted higher than the hand itself. He reached up and removed his helmet, letting it dangle from the oxygen tube that connected with his tank. It wouldn't do to run around like that break, which could possibly be a dislocation-Trowa put the hammer underneath his armpit, and Quatre's eyes recognized what his friend was going to do, but didn't protest in time-Trowa simply tugged hard on the dislocated limb, making Quatre shout with pain, and reset the entire thing with a quick press, bones grinding and shifting back into place.

Quatre withdrew his arm with a whimpering cry, cradling his arm close to him, trying to fight back his tears of extreme pain. Trowa then unzipped his suit, revealing his long sleeved shirt underneath, then quickly shifted out of it. He tore the arms from his shirt, and began ripping that into useable shreds while Quatre stared at his reset wrist with his eyes blinking at gathering tears. Trowa tied and used the shreds and material that he'd torn from his shirt to create a makeshift sling that he used to prop Quatre's arm up against his chest.

Silently, Quatre watched as he worked, reaching up every so often to brush away his tears. Trowa had just finished adjusting the neck part of the sling when they caught sight of the man in the hat, gesturing at the stairway, the heavier man behind him. Trowa suddenly felt the air grow cold, come to a stand still-he hurriedly pulled the top half of his suit back on, and re-sealed it. Despite the fact that he was still within his suit and helmet, his skin suddenly felt below freezing and his blood began to rush.

He heard Quatre give a startled intake of breath, something close to a scared whimper.

"Those things are floating!" the man continued. "Floating! I thought you were lying all this time! I fucking take it all back, man! It's just standing there!"

Trowa blinked, realizing what was the center of attention. He looked down at Quatre's hand, noting the night light, and his own hand holding the hammer, then looked back at the two men. What he saw really creeped him out, his back turning rigid and body stiffening. The slim man was going on and on about the 'ghost', but the other man wasn't even paying attention-he stared at the mechanic with something extremely close to disgusted fascination, lips curled with the look of a animal studying its prey. As odd as it were, Trowa realized that the man covered in tattoos had something of an infatuation with the slim mechanic. He realized this because he recognized the expression that often crossed one of his fellow pilots' face upon seeing another pilot.

But the expression was crowded with other suggestions that this infatuation wasn't without its consequences-the look in the man's eyes, the curled lips, the sudden increase in malice in his face warned Trowa that this crush wasn't a willing one. More rather, an intense fascination on something the man couldn't stop himself from feeling.

The slim man made a startled wail as Quatre turned suddenly and ran down the hallway, carrying the night light with him. Trowa started, looking after him in disbelief, then moving after him.

"Quatre! Where the hell are you going?!" Trowa yelled, longer legs overtaking the other pilot, and his arms reaching out to grip the other's arm, jerking him to a stop.

Quatre suddenly reared on him, eyes incredibly wide and fearful, and he struggled against Trowa's grasp with something similar to a keening whine. Startled, Trowa let go, and Quatre ran off, disappearing down the hallway. Movement over his shoulder caught Trowa's attention, and he turned to see the two men moving through the hall, the heavier one commenting that he'd always known this place was haunted-and that no one believed him.

The slimmer man tugged off his hat, reaching up to disturb white blond hair. And Trowa froze because now with his hat off, the man looked eerily similar to Quatre, but with more mature features. The sharp chin, the straight nose, the azure eyes-right down to the way he smiled and gestured. Trowa was aware both Wufei and Heero were trying to get him to talk to them, but he couldn't right at the moment. Something about those two men made the air suddenly cold, suddenly still, and he felt something close to dread.

Because the man continued to stare at the slimmer one with a mixture of hate and infatuation, and the other man, now convinced that he'd just witnessed his first ghost and was disappointed that 'it' was gone, was now starting to notice the expression. Suddenly uncomfortable, he bid 'Nigel' a good night and walked off, replacing his hat. Trowa watched as the heavy man stared after the smaller one, fists clenched tightly at his sides, heavy breathing amplified by an emotion Trowa recognized as rage. Then, the heavier man turned, looking in his direction. Trowa stilled, wondering if he could see him, but the man's eyes swept the area from side to side, as if looking for any remnants of the 'ghost', and retreated back down the stairway.

Releasing the breath he'd held, he finally realized that Heero was already informing Wufei that he was on the second level and steadily moving toward the third. In the ensuing action, Trowa turned and began moving in the direction Quatre had taken, wondering with building annoyance why the blond had taken off as he had. Well, Quatre Winner was always to feel other people's emotions in ways Trowa couldn't, so he wondered if just feeling that heavy man's emotions scared him. But it wasn't right! Why run?! He must know that he had the other pilots in continuous worry and concern, and all of them didn't want to stay here. Why run?!

Trowa rounded the corner, finding with frustration that the hallway before him was long, empty, and curved up into a stairway that led up.

"Damn it!" he cursed, sprinting toward the other end, breathing heavily.

"BARTON!?" Wufei's voice practically echoed within his helmet. "What the hell is going on with you?! Have you found him?!"

"I'm going after him right now," Trowa answered, running up the stairway to find that it spread out into another residential area, except that the hallway at his left hung over what looked to be a cafeteria below. The walkway emerged into another hall at the end, and after determining that Quatre could not be in the residential area, Trowa began moving through the walkway. Looking down below, he saw many workers dressed in various uniforms having dinner, and the activity was so real, the sights, sounds and smells so real that Trowa felt himself growing a headache in trying to determine what was real and what wasn't.

He was confused by this illusion-he was practically a ghost in their reality. But then again, when the lights were off, they were the ghosts. What the hell was going on?!

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Quatre wanted out, and he wanted out right now. Running through the various hallways, breathing heavily, he climbed stairways and plowed his way through halls that were crowded with people. Even though he'd noticed a while ago that he was running through the people as if he were the insubstantial one, he knew that he wasn't the ghost here-they were trapped in some illusion, some awesome change in reality and what really created the kicker was the fact that that man, the heavy one named 'Nigel', was the cause of it all. The pure malice, the hate, the ugly evil that he'd radiated made Quatre desperate to get out of here. He'd forgotten about Trowa in his haste to get out-and when the other teen held him back, all Quatre wanted to do was get away. He wasn't about to go in the same direction as Nigel-no, he'd find another way back.

His mind was just much too confused and scared to think about better options. 'Flight' mode was in full-effect, and there was no way in Hell he was going to stick around when the illusion wore off and they were plunged into darkness yet again.

Moving up a stairway, he ran into a dead-end-offices littered the hall, and every one of them was in use. The heavy buzzing sounds of working machinery were louder in this hall, and from the repetitive beat that drummed throughout the area, it sounded as if a drill was in working effect somewhere below him.

He ran back down the stairway, dropping the night light in his haste. He took a left where he'd taken a right, and found himself moving down a stairway he'd taken earlier. He cursed loudly, skidding upon a linoleum floor, and hurling himself in the direction of an elevator. Moving in, he pressed at the buttons, closing the door. When he saw that there was no option to get back to the hangar from here, he hit the panel with a closed fist and moved to get out-that's when the lights went out once more, plunging everything into darkness, all normals sounds of activity ceasing with a maddeningly sudden abruptness.

He sucked in a great amount of breath and ducked back into the elevator. Suddenly, everything was as stale as it was before, just as dark, and just as silent. Whimpering, he pressed his back against the wall of the elevator and slid down onto his butt, holding himself with one arm. Swallowing hard, hating the powers that created this changing illusion, he pressed his forehead against his knees and wished that he'd been more braver in sticking with Trowa.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there when he finally became aware that he wasn't alone. Blinking, he looked up from his knees, trying to peer through the inky blackness to see who was standing nearby. Trowa had been so quiet to him since that incident with Wing Zero, and he expected it to be Trowa that was there.

He was so wrong.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Heero frowned, stopping short before he began to step onto the third level, where Trowa was. The familiarity of the darkness prompted him to turn on the flashlight that he carried, and he moved that around to observe the same disrepair that the three had encountered before. Confused as to why the illusion had disappeared, and as to why it happened in the first place, Heero began moving forward.

"Trowa!" he called, listening for the answering reply.

He found one on his right, up a staircase nearby. Heero took the steps, careful of rot, and found Trowa standing nearby, a puzzled expression on his face behind his helmet. He reached behind him, finding the flashlight Wufei had found in his Gundam to give to Trowa. Trowa took it on a breath of relief, flicking it on.

"I thought you found him," Heero stated, looking around him.

Trowa's expression turned annoyed. "He ran away."

"What?"

"He ran away. We...something...I don't know, Heero. He ran off before I could reason with him. I don't know what's wrong with him."

Heero stared up at Trowa with disbelief, then his eyes narrowed with severe annoyance. He lowered the flashlight to the floor, noting the gun the mercenary carried and what looked to be a hammer. He gestured at it, and Trowa lifted the hammer from his side, shrugging. He tossed it aside, finding it useless in this environment.

"He had it."

"Where did he run?"

"Heero...something happened before the lights went off. Maybe something of consequential importance," Trowa started. "Wufei, are you listening?"

After a few moments of silence, they heard the Chinese's answering reply.

Trowa briefly explained the two men, the way the heavier man had some sort of evil presence around him, the similarities of features in both Quatre and the other man. Heero frowned at this, trying to work through various angles, trying to pierce together the complete story. Trowa had just finished telling Heero about Quatre's escape when they were suddenly alerted to a low rumble down the hall-along with the feelings of dread, hate, fury and ugly malice. Heero brought up his gun, and Trowa did so as well, the both of them facing that direction. It wasn't as if it were substantial-it rattled the walls, vibrated the floor, and was just a general feeling that had them both on complete edge. They felt the vibrations under foot, and heard the sound of heavy breathing, the hairs on their bodies rising upon the noise.

It was different when things were covered in the dark-the feelings of both fear and terror rose up within the two pilots' despite their resolve, and the rumbling of things around them shifted, and suddenly ceased, along with the heavy breathing. Both pilots breathing heavily within their helmets, eyes wide and searching for the source of the noise, minutes passed before either of them moved. Heero shifted slightly, not breaking contact with the darkness ahead of them before remembering that he had a flashlight. He shined it upward, placing his gun hand over his flashlight hand, and slicing through the dark to search for the disturbance that had just occurred.

When nothing but silence and darkness reigned, Heero and Trowa exchanged looks, wondering how to proceed from here. There wasn't a reasonable explanation for that one-unless someone was operating a Caterpillar or something of the sort within the halls, and that wasn't a possibility....

Heero started to move forward, indicating that they were going to investigate the sounds by searching the area it had started when they heard the screams. Both of them started, because they recognized that voice, which was filled with hysteria and terror. Utterly panicked at the way they were given so freely, the terror so raw and desperate, Trowa and Heero forgot about the noise and began following the sounds of the screams. Whatever was happening to Quatre had to be something of unimaginable fright.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Wufei sighed in frustration as the two pilots refused to answer him. Nearby, Duo was staring up at him with a waiting expression, his medical dressings covering one bare leg, one arm, and his bare upper torso.

"God, what's happening now?!" he demanded as Wufei lingered near the open door of his Gundam, frowning down at Duo. "Why aren't they saying anything?"

"Trowa mentioned that during the, uh, displacement, he and Quatre stumbled upon two men. One that looked like an older version of Quatre and another one, one that Trowa mentioned was entirely...evil. Something about those two has our fellow pilot on edge, and made the other run away."

Duo stared up at him in surprise. "What?! 'Run away?!' Please tell me it was Barton that ran off!"

Wufei shook his head once, annoyed. "He knows we want off this cursed place-! And yet he runs! Runs! Like a-!"

"Shut up, Wufei! He's scared, all right?! I understand what he's feeling, and though I'm more than pissed that he'd----that he'd fuck up like his, I understand," Duo spat out in Quatre's defense, clutching his blanket tightly within both fists.

"Pure stupidity won't help anyone!" Wufei growled. "He made this entirely worse! Now those two have to find him and they have no idea where he's gone!"

"Stop bad-mouthing him, Wufei! You don't know what it's like out there!" Duo shouted.

"If he wasn't so damned stupid, I wouldn't be talking like this about him! I want out of here just as much as you do, Duo!" Wufei snapped. "And I'm just saying that he was stupid for making such a childish decision-! Now we'll have to pay for it by-!"

He ducked the throwing of a roll of tape that Duo hurled at his head, then straightened, frowning. Duo caught his breath, looking entirely pissed off as he glared at Wufei.

"You don't know what it's like out there, Wufei!" he growled. "You can't judge his reactions because of what happened! You don't know!"

Wufei quieted, pressing his lips together. Okay, so he didn't know what was going on out there. But he wasn't about to act like a woman about it and react in the worst possible way-! He turned away from Duo, angrily retreating into his Gundam to shut him out. Focusing on the radar screen in front of him, he listened to the sounds of heavy breathing, and he furrowed his brow, wondering what that was about. He touched the communications link to talk to them.

"What's going on?" he demanded. "Heero? Trowa?"

When he received nothing in reply, he sighed, signing off once more. Sitting back in his chair, Wufei stared up at the closed door. Frowning heavily, he wanted to go with Duo's words and have some sort of respect that he didn't know what was going on out there. But his own emotional and mental pride had him reeling in confusion as to why Quatre would react the way that he did. Their 'leader' had turned tail and run?! In a situation like this, why not just stick with Trowa and be scared with Trowa?!

Quatre's manner of thinking really annoyed Wufei-it was an invitation of things to come, and it seriously pissed him off. They could be leaving this hellhole right now, but Quatre just made it worse. Annoyed and pissed, Wufei crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

"Go that way. I'll take this route," he heard Heero's voice order Trowa, and since there was no reply from Barton, Wufei assumed that whatever they were doing had somewhat of an effect. He desperately wanted to know what was going on, but he figured that trying to ask would get him no where. So he sat and he listened.

"What is that?!" he heard Trowa's voice relay over their link, filled with wonder and tension.

"Can you see anything?"

"Nothing. I can still hear him. He's moving from my left. But there's a wall here. I took a wrong turn somewhere!"

"I'm near the stairway. I can hear him this way."

"What the hell's going on?!" Wufei growled angrily, pushing up from his seat.

"Heero-!"

When there was nothing but silence answering Trowa's suddenly panicked call, Wufei froze in his seat, finding himself gripping the controls in pensive silence. He blinked, listening for any telltale breathing, any more words, any faint sound that both pilots were all right, and when he heard a sudden intake of breath and a surprised release of sound, Wufei eyed the body heat register with a pensive press of his lips, trying to guess where they were.

"Fuck!" he heard Trowa shout. "Get off! GET OFF!!"

"Barton?!" Heero's voice came in automatic reply, Wufei leaning forward in his seat once more, urging for Trowa to continue talking. "Trowa?! Trowa, is that you-! Stop firing, damn it! I'm nearby! Stop firing! Cease firing! Tro-! Shit! Shhhiiiittttt!"

There was a suddenly mess of sound, Wufei's eyes growing large at the shouts of his fellow pilots; the sounds of Trowa's panicked curses, Heero's more furious, hurt ones. He desperately wanted to know what was going on, and he gripped the controls with both hands, practically vibrating in his seat.

He heard gunshots, then-over the link. Heero's shouts were more muffled now, and Wufei guessed that he'd removed his helmet. The gunshots were being released in rapid succession, and from the sounds of it, it was Trowa's gun that was being fired. He heard a sudden muffled sound from Trowa's end, then dead silence. It was entirely silent. From Heero's end was nothing, but if Wufei leaned against the screen, he could just faintly hear Wing's pilot groaning softly, cursing every so often.

Wufei's heart was pounding wildly now, as he couldn't imagine what the hell was going on with those two. Leaning back in his seat, he thought furiously, trying to come up with a reason he should leave the carrier and join in on the rescue team. But that meant leaving a very injured Duo behind, and he couldn't do it. He couldn't leave behind a man incapable of moving and defending their cargo, so, in frustration, Wufei hit the control panel of his Gundam, growling ferociously. He felt entirely helpless that the feeling made the back of his throat dry.

Swallowing repeatedly, he connected with both their links. "Heero? Trowa? Can you read me? 01? Come in, 01....03? Come in, 03....anyone? Can anyone hear me?! 01! 03! I repeat, can anyone hear me?! What the fuck's going on out there! Somebody!! Somebody answer me!"

With a growl of frustration upon receiving no reply, Wufei slammed himself into his seat, gripping the controls with shaking hands. Bowing his head, he grit his teeth, trying to fight through his conflicting emotions of leaving the carrier to find the other three and leaving Duo behind, helpless and vulnerable, and their Gundams open to enemy attack. The two hadn't for sure said that it was enemy-they defined 'illusions' as the thing here, and Wufei couldn't find a plausible one to explain the one that had left the hangar extremely bright and busy. Since he couldn't, he was going to safely rule their enemy out-they were fighting against something more powerful, something that was obviously above their natural, human power.

But what was it?!

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Duo stared up at Wufei's Gundam, ears straining to hear anything. He couldn't through, there was no way to hear anything through the gundaminum material the mecha giants were created with. In frustration, wanting to know what was happening to his comrades, he clenched his good fist, hitting the wall with it. His injuries were throbbing angrily, painfully, and he didn't want to take any painkillers, simply because he did not want to be groggy while this bullshit was going on. He wanted to be sharp, but the pain was dulling that part of him. He felt entirely nauseated and dizzy, his skin clammy and yet breaking out in a slight sheen of sweat. He knew he was in shock, but he couldn't do anything about it, not when those three were out there in that hellhole, trying to get back.

He couldn't believe Wufei's callousness!! The Chinese pilot didn't know what was going on out there, and had no right to judge Quatre that way! Wufei hadn't seen any of the sneaky forms that went about, moving about in the corner of their eyes, or the forces that were malicious enough to try and kill them! Wufei didn't hear the voices, nor did he hear the odd sounds that were similar to human activity around them.

Duo was firmly convinced that they were dealing with a supernatural form, something that wanted them gone. He wasn't sure if he wanted to face it, or not, but from the sounds of it, Trowa and Quatre already had an idea of what it was, and from what he gathered, Quatre was immensely afraid of it. Whatever could shake the blond that seriously was enough to shake Duo, and he hadn't even seen it, yet! He wasn't sure he wanted to.

While he felt very comforted by the light within the carrier, the fact that he had at least five Gundams to use in case something got particularly nasty, he felt small and insignificant while relating to what those three were going through. But he felt confident enough for Heero and Trowa to prevail-the pair were so beyond him, so high on the macho-ness factor that Duo found himself relying on them to save the day. Heero and his perfect soldier attitude, the scary determination to get things done on the factor of whether or not he himself survived it, had the perfect ghost ass-kicking attitude to just march right into something from the 'Poltergiest' and get the job done without fail. Trowa was the type to not care whether or not he was scared, and probably would wave off the possibility of ghosts with that blank face of his. He would be right behind Heero, and the two would save the day-or night-and bring Quatre back to the carrier and they could leave this shit hole behind.

With that, Duo felt much better, and began focusing on his injuries. Heero had reset his shin bone-ouch!-and the dislocation of his elbow. While they hurt on a serious level, Duo had other things to think about. He'd been stitched and bandaged, and knew he was going to be sore in the morning-or evening, whichever was first when they landed on Earth. He was slipping into shock, so he remedied that by eyeing the oxygen canister nearby, seeing that Wufei had gotten out some bundles of air rebreather masks and some nasal cannulas. Carefully, Duo shifted in his position on the bench and took hold of both oxygen canister and a nasal cannula, figuring he didn't need the mask. Seeing that he had no idea how to work the damn thing, he stared up at Wufei's Gundam and considered calling out.

As if psychic, Wufei emerged from his Gundam, severe stress evident on his face. Duo dropped the items he held, grunting as the canister landed a little too close to his groin, and watched as Wufei climbed down from his Gundam, moving to him.

Without pause, he carefully rigged the cannula to the canister, and positioned it on Duo's face. The immediate flow of air relaxed Duo just slightly, but he was still befuddled when it came to Wufei's uncharacteristic silence and tense expression.

"What happened?" he demanded as Wufei stowed the cannister beside him.

Wufei didn't answer, adjusting the sheet that Heero had draped over Duo's bottom half. He then moved away from Duo, disappearing beyond the Gundams. Duo stared after him, clenching the sheet. "Wufei?! What happened?! WUFEI!!"

With a frustrated growl, Duo hit the bench, eyeing his leg. If something happened to the others, what were they going to do? He then shifted his gaze from his leg, and searched for a sort of crutch, or support he could use to get around on. He really didn't want to move-but this was something serious! He saw possibilities in what looked to be a PVC pipe that was used for repairs on the carrier, and figured that if it were short enough, he could use it. Carefully, he inched himself off the bench, and steadied himself by holding onto the wall with one hand. He hopped in the direction, ripping off the cannula when it dragged the oxygen tank behind him, and reached the pipe. It was much too big, but Duo would use it was a staff, and did so, depending on it as he moved from the wall and began venturing in the direction Wufei had taken.

The Chinese pilot was standing near the doorway of the carrier, his helmet and oxygen tank nearby. Duo eyed these things and knew something was up. His kick-ass pilots had done something to cause Wufei worry, and Duo felt his stomach pull up into his throat, the feeling awkward. He leaned forward and vomited, startling Wufei out of his thoughts.

With a curse, Wufei hurried over, pulling the PVC pipe out of Duo's grasp and throwing his arm around his shoulder. As soon as Duo was through vomiting, he began the slow process of dragging Duo back to the bench seat.

"What's going on?!" Duo demanded, wiping his mouth with the back of his good hand. "Are you going to go out there!"

"I-! I want to, but I can't!" Wufei admitted, helping Duo down. He picked up the abandoned oxygen tank and nasal cannula, resetting it. But before he could slip the cannula over Duo's ears, Duo ducked out and away from it, giving him a furious expression.

"What's happening with those guys!?" he demanded. "Why aren't you saying anything?!"

"Look, Duo," Wufei growled, slipping the cannula on. "Just...just sit here and breathe. If I have to go out there, I will. But if I do...It would only leave our Gundams unprotected..."

"Oh, thanks, real lot of confidence you have in me!" Duo snapped, but then sighed, shoulders slumping. Wufei had a point-there wasn't anything he could do to defend the mechas if anything or anyone decided to attack. It was good that Wufei was here, because the pilot was capable of doing something. Duo, in his state, couldn't. Utterly helpless, Duo glared at his leg, breathing in the air that was being provided and feeling somewhat better than he had before. Then he blinked, looking up at Wufei, who was staring off into the distance with worry. "Quat's probably having trouble...the air's so thin..."

Wufei grunted, shaking his head. He pulled the blanket back over Duo's lap. "I'll let you know when I leave, all right?" he said as he climbed his way back up his Gundam and disappeared into the hatch.

Duo watched him, frowning tightly, not liking the sounds of those words. Something had happened, and Wufei wasn't saying anything. Feeling very worried that he may not see the others again, Duo bowed his head, clasping his hands together. Then, from there, he began to pray.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Trowa was breathing evenly and as calmly as possible, eyes widened as he tried searching through the darkness for the things that had scared him enough to start firing. He'd lost his flashlight and his gun, but he hadn't heard the light break, so it had to be intact wherever he'd left it. He swallowed hard, shifting his back against the wall, listening for anymore telltale sign that those... things...were nearby. It had been nearly five minutes since he'd heard the last one, but...one could never tell with...ghosts.

It had happened so fast!

One minute he was hearing Quatre screaming bloody murder, screaming at something to let go of him and to get away, and the next, he felt hands all over his thighs, his lower body. Numerous hands had touched him-gripping his suit, pulling at him, pinching, pushing, and it had started silently, without warning. He'd felt his heart leap into his throat at the feel of unseen things touching him. He was confused, startled, and had froze upon contact. Small hands touched his legs, his feet, smaller fingers pulling at his suit, pinching him.

It was startling enough, and he'd tried to shine the flashlight around him, to see what it was, but he saw nothing, and yet the contact continued. That's when he'd angrily said "What is that?!" and as he tried moving away from the contact, it persisted! Ignoring Wufei and Heero, he'd tried to turn and start walking quickly in the direction Quatre's screams were coming from, but then the sounds began.

Small, sniffling sounds, child-like giggles and breathy babbles that threw him on edge. Their pawing turned into suddenly forceful pushes that nearly knocked him off balance. And because he couldn't see what they were, he found himself panicking. He'd called for Heero to come over and help him out, but when his voice had grown louder, the 'things' had gotten suddenly dangerous. He felt hard pinches and what felt like teeth embedding into his legs, and in return, Trowa had taken his gun out and began firing randomly, shouting out in frustration and fear.

That's when the screaming began, and it was suddenly more forceful than before. They were pushing him in one direction now, forcing him to walk along, and Trowa, completely annoyed by the way his helmet was obscuring his vision, threw it off and into what he figured was the small crowd of things that pushed him, and heard the protective object hit the floor and roll to the side. Trowa continued firing down at the floor, near his legs, but that's when he felt something hit his back, and something entirely forceful slammed into his face.

He vaguely recalled it being similar to a punch, and it was so strong that he'd simply lost his balance and his grip on his gun and flashlight, and went flying. He fell to the side, feeling that it had been a wall he'd backed into, and kicked out. But the force was there again, gripping his leg, and dragging him. He'd kicked in desperation, hands reaching out to try and feel for another weapon, and came into contact with his gun. He'd gripped it and fired the last three rounds in the direction his leg was gripped, and was panicked when nothing happened. His gun now useless, he'd hurled it in that direction, only to hear the gun bounce off a wall and clatter back to the floor. He was now being dragged faster, until he felt his butt leave the smooth surface, forcing him to realize that he was being dragged down a stairway. Awkwardly, he bounced and slid all the way to the bottom, the grip on his ankle strong and firm, and he was suddenly stopped. At that moment, Trowa was up and punching wildly through the darkness, eager to connect with the something that had him in its invisible grasp, but he only connected with something entirely immovable-a wall. He grimaced and held his fist when he felt an incredible force shove hard at him-his body hit what felt like a railing of sorts, and this time he was flying through open air, having no idea where he was, or what was going to happen.

Quick reflexes had him shifting in mid-air to land neatly on his feet, the shock of impact racing up his legs. Breathing heavily, he stayed put, trying to calm his panicked mind as he listened for more of his attackers. He couldn't explain what it was that had attacked him, and he couldn't put any finger on where he was now. He'd lost his flashlight and his gun, and thus, was completely vulnerable. With a stern frown, he rose from the floor, ears straining to hear any sound around him. There was no more Quatre-no more Heero. And he had no idea of where he was.

He'd lost his helmet and in slow realization, Trowa realized that he was lost.

Well, he didn't want the others to search far for him. He was going to stay in one place. And try to figure out an explanation for something to explain what had just happened to him.

For some reason, he wanted to say, 'self-defense'. Both on himself, and on those...things. No...'ghosts'. Those ghosts had attacked him in self-defense. But why did he want to say that? Those ghosts came onto him, startling him. Small, little ghosts that made babbling sounds similar to children...

Kids?! There were ghost kids about?!

At this, Trowa frowned thoughtfully, crouching, resting his back against the wall. Well...in a way, that made sense. Ghost kids...but...what had made them 'ghosts' in the first place? Something was utterly wrong with this entire situation, and it wasn't just the fact that they were running around a colony filled with specters...it was the matter of why there were ghosts here. People must have died in questionable agony to be left here...or so he thought. Otherwise, why here?

And on that topic, why was he making such a big thing out of it?!

Fine. His methodical mind began filing away reasons on why he believed that something was entirely wrong-for one thing, that obvious displacement of time and reality, where they, the pilots, were ghosts to those that they considered ghosts. For another, the amount of people and such that resided here. An obvious theory was that all of them had died during something mass destructive...but there was no indications of explosions, or loss of rations, or...maybe poisonous? No, every colony was equipped to detect such things, but what if...?

But then again, that man came to mind. The evil one. And Trowa felt himself shiver violently upon recalling that. That man, Nigel, had something do with this entire situation. He knew it. He just knew it. But what had happened?! And were the pilots themselves in danger?! And of what extreme?

Trowa exhaled slowly, ears straining for anything familiar. He heard the sound of someone running helter-skelter above him, and he rose, looking in that direction. But as soon as he heard it, it was gone.

Then the giggling began, and despite his reasonable explanation and admittance into this factor, Trowa felt his neck hairs raise. Kids were cute, but ghost kids? He shivered again as the sound faded, and was replaced by childish screams.

He started, reaching out to touch the wall for reassurance. Many kids were screaming or crying in fear, and it was then he noticed the rumbling. That similar rumbling from the hallway, where both he and Heero had been startled by it. It was nearby, and steadily growing closer. The kids were scattering in various directions now, and Trowa heard them crying for various mothers and fathers, disappearing into the darkness that enveloped them. The rumbling suddenly ceased, and the odd sobbing noise of a man began.

Trowa felt his heart gripped with ice, listening to that sobbing. It was obvious the man was terrified, and every so often, he was pleading for release. He couldn't hear anything else but the crying, and Trowa found it odd that a man would cry. Well, there were a lot of odd things going on here, but he found that even more odd. Because while he'd seen men cry in battle over lost loved ones or frustration of losing, he had never heard that sort of crying before. Terror, anxiety, begging...as if...being tortured.

He felt his throat clog with emotion, hearing the man gasp in air, then hiccup. And it was silent once more.

He wanted to know what had happened here. What had created this deadzone of terror...what that evil-ghost? Man?-had to do with all of this. Because as soon as he found out, he would bet that they would then know what to do, and perhaps-hell, what was he thinking?

He needed to find Heero and Quatre and they needed to get out of here. That's that he needed.

And with that in mind, he shoved away all other thoughts about his theories on the ghosts and concentrated on willing anyone in his direction.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Quatre himself was in a bind-a watery one.

He still hadn't caught his breath, and he was sure his heart was going to break through his rib cage at any moment. Wading through waist deep water, which was entirely slimy, disgustingly littered with various objects that he definitely didn't want to question, he touched his hand on the side of the channel, his bare hand coming away slimy and cold. Retreating it, he paused in place, trying to calm himself down. He was intensely terrified, and all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball somewhere and hide. Hide from the things that had screamed at him, pushed and pulled at him, and definitely hide from that man. That man was after him-he just knew it. He knew it because every time he cried out, whether from pain or surprise, that man was nearby, and Quatre found himself running through the darkness just to get out of its path.

That man hated him, and he didn't know why! He didn't know him! Maybe something his father had done-?! He couldn't think-he was too terrified to think coherently.

When he'd realized that he wasn't alone in the elevator, it was too late. The hands were on him, pulling on his hair, his face, clawing at his skin, all the while screaming in breathy, somewhat ghostly sounds that were recognizable as kids'. The ghosts were all over him, screaming at him to get out of here, to leave them alone, that he did this, that he was at fault. In the resulting panic, Quatre had started to scream, hitting at things that weren't there, but those things were hurting him. In the process, he'd lost Trowa's carefully constructed sling, and injured his hand upon hitting the wall.

He'd left the elevator and made his way through the hall, the ghosts on his feet, hitting at him. He hadn't realized he was screaming all this time until he launched into a violent coughing fit, throat completely dry and sore. The ghosts still upon him, he'd run until he smacked hard into a wall, bouncing off that to land on the floor. It was then that the ghosts had pounced on him, biting him through his suit, clawing and pinching, ripping his hair from his head. He'd climbed to his feet, feeling in panic for a way to move, and found another wretched stairway. He'd run up that, ran until he tripped on the top step and fell flat on his face.

The ghosts were following him, moving up the stairway with their furious steps, and so Quatre was back on his feet, running forward. He'd once again smacked hard into a flat, tall surface, and groping along it, found that it was a level of some kind, with a flat surface that he could touch when he jumped. He jumped up, gripping it with both hands, shouting with pain that he was using his injured wrist to do so, and managed to haul himself up and over the flat surface, body sliding under what felt like an alcove of some sort. He moved to get up and start running once more, but his feet touched air, and he'd somersaulted forward, smashing through a very cold, very slimy surface.

In surprise, he'd breathed in the stinky liquid as he tried to right himself, and vomited repeatedly after surfacing. He didn't want to know where he was, but judging from the extreme stink of the water, he'd have to guess it was the septic tank. And the knowledge that it was so made him violently ill, his hands clawing upward on the wall for a way out. But no matter how many times he'd jumped, clawed and pulled, he couldn't touch the surface of the wall.

In pure frustration, fury and disgust, Quatre let out a scream to release all the built up emotions that were currently suffocating him. On one positive factor, he had to admit that the ghosts had stopped bothering him.

He paused in place, straining his ears, trying to listen for the things. Now that he was away from them, he'd guess them to be children. Ghost kids. But...why? How...how did they die? And why?!

His emotions boiling over, Quatre began moving again, feeling tears spilling over his cheeks. He wiped at them furiously. "Stop being a sissy!" he shouted at himself, but couldn't stop from letting out a barked sob, covering his face with his hands. "Stop being a sissy...stop...!"

After a good cry, which left him decidedly exhausted and even worse off than before, Quatre wiped his eyes and blew his nose into his fingers, figuring that it was useless to try and aim for more sanitary measures, and 'cleaned' his hand in the water. Sniffling, he moved on, trying to look for a way out of the channel. Unable to find one, finding that entire thing was just a five foot by twenty section, he stomped on the floor beneath him. There were definitely 'things' drifting around him, skittering along the bottom, but he didn't want to find out what they were because he was definite that this was a septic tank.

He definitely didn't want to call for help. No, his voice attracted the man. He couldn't even remember his name, but he didn't want to. His voice, whenever he called out, always attracted him. That thing was coming for him, and he didn't know why.

The water was intensely cold, and he found himself shivering violently, teeth chattering. After thoroughly exploring the channel, realizing that he was not going to be able to get out without help, Quatre stood in place, holding himself. He regretted leaving Trowa-that was the most stupidest choice he could have ever made in his life. Well, not counting the one that had made him build Wing Zero, of course.

At that, he hung his head, chin quivering dangerously. This situation between him and Trowa had him stressed out before-they were such good friends. Trowa was a little quiet, admittedly, but once he opened up, he was able to carry a conversation easily. It wasn't as if he were silent all the time-the guy could talk. Just...he didn't like to open up so much. And Quatre had felt honored to have Trowa open up to him. Simply, because, he admired the green-eyed boy. Admired him for his strength, for his ability to cope, for his ability to think things through when no one else could. Trowa was someone that had many troubled memories and dreams tucked away, but he was a good person. Intensely loyal, trustworthy, and caring.

But since Quatre had tried to kill him...well, things just weren't the same. Quatre had talked to him about it, apologized, but since then...he could tell Trowa didn't feel comfortable around him anymore. And so, with a great measure of guilt and shame, Quatre had kept it at that. They worked together only as pilots working for the same thing, and never as the friends they were before. Trowa had regained his memory, but things had definitely changed.

And thus, Quatre felt immensely small now. Trowa must think so angrily of him, now. Leading them on this chase...being a baby, a wimpy sissy...

He felt his throat clog with emotion, and his eyes to fill up once more. But he quickly dashed them away and tried peering through the darkness for some way out. But, of course, he couldn't see. And it was only through luck that nothing was bothering him. No ghosts. No...no evil man. But it was wrong because the others couldn't find him. Especially when he didn't want to call out.

In frustration, Quatre hugged himself tightly, the coldness of the water penetrating his suit, chilling him to his very bones. He couldn't stay here forever-! But if he called out, the man-!

And it was weaknesses like this that had gotten him here in the first place! With a firm press of his lips, Quatre swallowed hard. He would just have to risk it. After all, what could the man do once he got a hold of him? It wasn't as if...well, it wasn't as if the ghost could kill him. He could hurt him through devices of Quatre's own, but he couldn't kill him...

So he opened his mouth, taking a deep breath, and promptly vomited once more upon inhaling the gross odor of the water. After he was through, he wiped his mouth, noting that he felt intensely dizzy and disoriented. His legs were shaking, muscles weak, and he let go of himself to venture forward, touching the wall in front of him. Bowing his head against the cold metal, he slowly counted to twenty, trying to get the ringing in his ears to go away and for his muscle weakness to go away.

Then, he pulled his head back and shouted for help, calling for Heero or Trowa.

After that, he listened, straining his ears to catch any sound. No rumbling, no heavy breathing, so he called again. He didn't hear anything for awhile, so he kept this up-shouting, then listening. After awhile, his voice broke, so he stopped. His throat felt so very raw and sore, and whenever he tried to speak, it only came out hitched and squeaky, like he was going through puberty all over again.

He cleared his throat, then tried to draw spit into his mouth, but he was so dry that he could barely moisten his own tongue.

He opened his mouth, taking a deep breath to call out again when he heard the faint rumbling. Trembling violently, he shut his mouth with a click of his teeth and tried to control his unsteady breathing. He heard him! He heard him and he was coming for him!

At that, Quatre began to move away from the wall, wading as quickly as he possibly could toward the far corner of the channel. He felt something against his foot, and he pulled his foot up to get it into motion once more, but his toe was caught into something small and clenching. Angrily, he pulled his foot up and bent at his side to try and dislodge it, but the thing, whatever it was, came off easily and he pulled it up to investigate it.

It was middle-sized, brittle, slimy-and there were at least twelve protruding shapes that curved around a larger, more thicker support that felt 'thorny' to the touch. With a puzzled expression, Quatre felt it, touching the protruding shapes, the thicker support. Then, as he touched and traced the shape with his fingers, he realized something-it was a rib cage. He was touching an actual rib cage. With a shout, he thrust the thing away from him, hearing it plop back into the water, sinking. With his eyes wide and his breath caught in his throat, he ventured forward, feeling connection with more 'things' at the bottom of the channel. His foot toyed with the mass, separating thicker objects from smaller ones, and he felt suddenly sick as he wondered how many bodies were in this channel. How many dead people was he walking on, how many dead things he'd swallowed when he'd swallowed water earlier?

Floating intestines, hearts, bones, brains...eyes? Bodily wastes?

Quatre dry-heaved, retching violently as he moved once more to the wall and tried clawing his way out, almost mad in his desperation to get out of here. He heard the rumbling, but it was set into the back of his mind, because he definitely didn't want to be in a pool of water that had bodies everywhere....his fingers were clawing on the metal, and he felt himself lose control on his emotions, desperation and sickness causing him to cry out in despair once he realized he definitely couldn't get out.

Jumping, leaping, touching nothing of the edge of the wall, Quatre shouted in rising panic, the water shifting all around him with his actions. And then, just as he was coming down from a particularly strong jump, a hand clamped around his wrist, preventing him from falling back into the water. He clutched at it desperately, using the steady, strong force of the person pulling him up from the water by walking on the wall, and finding himself thrown onto a smooth surface of the walkway that lined the channel.

Breathing heavily, trying to calm his panic riddled mind and shake off the disgusted shivers that were forcing all his muscles to tremble, he brought himself up onto his heels, hands on his chest. He peered through the inky darkness for his rescuer, hoping that either Trowa or Heero had a light, because he seriously was skeeved out by the thought that he was wading with dead people----

"Shhh...come here. Come over here, blondie....shhh...hurry up..."

At that familiar line, every hair rising on his body, Quatre felt his eyes grow ten times their normal size, heart slamming to a stop. He was completely paralyzed as he realized that it had been the man that had lifted him from the water, and suddenly, every muscle snapped to attention once he felt the smooth movement of a body shifting in front of him, and he threw himself to the side with a desperate shout. He slipped through the railing he'd crawled under earlier, screaming for the other pilots.

He heard the man laugh, an evil, maniacal laugh, and he groped wildly through the dark, finding the doorway he'd entered earlier and running without hesitation through the darkness, desperately eager to get away from the man. He was running so fast, so frightened to get away, that he ran hard into a wall, bouncing his face off of it. Promptly dazed and very disoriented by the pain that radiated from his nose and spreading throughout his brain, Quatre lay there for several seconds, trying to stop the little stars that were dancing in front of his eyes. He blacked out for a few moments, coming to only because his fear jump-started him into remembering why he was running, why he needed to get out of here.

He climbed back to his feet, groping along the floor to get away from the wall, and began running again. He was disoriented, though, entirely shaking from the adrenaline rush on a weakened body, so he fell onto his knees, palms scraping on the floor. He heard the man laugh again, sounding so close by that Quatre's dizziness promptly faded and he was on his feet once more, struggling to get away.

He felt fingers entangling through his hair and a hard pull, and he was jerked to a stop. Something was pressed against his throat, and he stopped struggling, eyes wide as a hand covered his mouth. Fear pulsed cold and hard throughout his body as he recognized the 'something' as the blade of a knife.

I thought ghosts couldn't hurt you this way! His mind shouted as he felt himself jerked through the darkness against a firm, heavy body, the protruding details of a potbelly against his back. He felt so utterly disgusted, violated and dirty upon feeling the man's body against his, a heavy arm shifting from his mouth and going around his waist, the knife shifting to apply more pressure against his Adam's apple.

"Don't say a word, and I won't slice you here, faggot," the man hissed in his ear. Quatre began breathing heavily, trying to quell his panic, trying to think clearly, remember all the self-defense he'd learned from Wufei and Heero-but nothing came to mind! His fear of the man, of the very real knife against his throat had him paralyzed. And he closed his eyes in shaking humiliation upon feeling the potbelly moving against him, a very obvious erection pressing against his back. He wanted to get sick once more, but he'd already vomited all he had in the septic tank...

"Fucking faggot-you think I wouldn't know what you do? Think I would never realize it? It's all a ploy, you dumb fuck. It's all a ploy with that family of yours, that wife! Think you would fool me?! I knew-! I knew what you were the moment I saw you! I knew! Thinking you could entice me, thinking you could get away with trying to seduce me! Fucking faggot! I'll teach you to try and dirty others with your sick secret. I'll show you! Thinking you could get away-! Fucking faggot, I watch you. I watch you, and I know you know. You strut around in front of me with that ass-I'm not a fag like you! I'm not a fag! I'll show you for trying to trick me! Trying to seduce me! I'm not like you! Fag! Fairy! Let's go! Don't make a sound, or I'll fucking gut you right here. Let your wife find you...let your kids play in your innards...let's go!"

Quatre had no choice to go along, very confused, very panicked that this man was addressing him in such a way when he wasn't what he was described. He wasn't! He didn't have a wife and kids! He wasn't a fag! He wasn't-! What was this?! What was going on?! Why were things so unreal, and yet so real at the same time! Why him?! Why?!

He wanted to shout out for the others, feeling somewhat better that he was dealing with a human-ghosts couldn't have erections or knives, could they?!-but he couldn't quite do so when that knife against him pressed hard enough to produce a cut. He could feel his blood dribbling down his throat, and he swallowed hard as he was forced to walk, trusting the man to guide his way through the hall.

And as he was forced to walk, he wondered what was going to happen to him. So much rage, so much malice-! He couldn't help but wonder if he was going to be killed...and so ridiculously! By a ghost?!

Now what would the others think of him? Utter shame raced through him, and he found himself shaking as he started to cry once more, silent tears dribbling down his cheeks. They would no doubt realize how wimpy he truly was, and he didn't think he would be able to show his face around them again. Peeing in his pants, running away when they wanted to go, leading them on a chase because he'd been so scared-! It would only be fitting to die by this maniac's hand than to face them. It was the only way to save face.